Poetry Explorer


Classic and Contemporary Poetry


POEM by FRANK THIBAULT

First Line: THE GREEN OF GRASS AND PURPLE HILLS
Last Line: THEY STIR ME TO THE ROOT WITH PAIN.

The green of grass and purple hills
Vaulted by unblemished blue;
The struggle of a seed to sun;
Kittens of a cat at nurse;
An infant's hand in mother's locked;
The cow herd on the flat
Tended by a boy and girl --
Comely lass and alert boy
Against the colored symphony
Of movement that is life;
These, and the sparkling white
Of plastered homes,
Roofed with tiles of rusty red --
Are simple things in lives of men.
Yet, simple though these be, these things --
They stir me to the root with pain.



Home: PoetryExplorer.net